


A Little Help

by BSplendens



Category: Transformers (general), Transformers- MTMTE
Genre: (due to said cycle), (no regrets after tho), Dirty Talk, M/M, Oral, Sticky sexual interface, Twitch has a filthy mouth, dubcon, heat cycle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 13:52:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BSplendens/pseuds/BSplendens
Summary: /Somebody's/ gotta help the local therapist out with that heat cycle. Preferably someone stubborn enough to gently ignore his attempts at continuing to be professional. Mech's gonna professionalism himself to death otherwise.





	A Little Help

**Author's Note:**

> Twitch is an OC of mine. He's a minibot who used to be a garbage collector until he got himself in trouble and was forcibly modded into a walking nanite factory. Somehow he's managed to not be traumatized at all by this. He's kind of weird and regularly drinks medical waste because he can and thinks it's tasty, but he's shockingly well-adjusted and is not, in fact, in need of therapy. He's also stubborn as frag.

“I’m- I’m sorry? What did you say?”

Rung doesn’t usually miss anything of what people say, especially not when they’re in his office. In his defense, though, he’s distracted. Ratchet has cleared his schedule and blocked his attempts at filling it again, Twitch has shown up despite being informed about the change, and- oh, and Rung is in heat. Which Ratchet insists means that he needs to take a break. That doesn’t help.

 In short, everything is distracting. Which gives him a decent excuse for having entirely missed what Twitch had said. Which he hasn’t, not really, not if he’s being truthful- he just needs to be very sure he’s heard right.

 

Twitch hops off the couch and trots up to Rung, servos clasped behind his back, blatantly looking the therapist over as he speaks. “I’m just trying to be certain. The only reason you don’t want my help with this is because I’m your patient, yes? Not anything to do with me or your own preferences?”

Because if it’s just that, he can fix it. Easy enough. If it’s his odd appearance, or the fact that he might not happen to be Rung’s taste? He can understand both, he’s strange and people have preferences, and both of those… might or might not be workable. No one says they need to be staring into each other’s optics all romantic.

If Rung just outright doesn’t want to interface with him, he’ll leave, but that doesn’t look to be the case. His initial offer had been met with genuine _interest,_ not just heat-driven arousal, before Rung visibly shut his own interest down and tried to settle. It failed. Poor mech. How long has he been trying to endure this?

 

Apparently Rung hadn’t heard wrong.

And, no, that isn’t the only…

Actually, yes, come to think of it, that _is_ the only reason. Twitch isn’t conventionally attractive, but he is calm, friendly, and stable, and he is _offering._

Rung is tempted. And he lets himself be tempted, just for an instant, before he shuts the idea down. No. He can’t. He’d taken (evidently _mis_ taken) the offer of help for a casual offer, even a joke, and had turned it down immediately. For good reason. He _cannot_ interface with a patient. It would be a massive breach of trust, of ethics, with too much potential for manipulation to even _approach_ a healthy relationship.

So, with reluctance, he takes a step back (though a tiny one) and nods. “You are correct. I do apologize, Twitch, and I thank you for the offer, but I-I simply cannot accept. It would be extremely irresponsible of me to- oh-“

 

That’s all he needed to know. Twitch stepped forward again, raising a servo, and set it firmly on Rung’s arm to pull even more of his attention. “All right, then. I am officially firing you as my therapist. The paperwork can wait. Come on- let me help you out. This way.”

He’s strong, much stronger than people tend to expect, but he’s careful not to use much of that strength as he tugs on Rung’s arm. It’s meant to be a firm invitation to an uncertain mech, nothing to force any sort of movement. Best bet here? Probably to pretend that everything is perfectly normal, perfectly casual. “Nothing against you, of course. You’re a very good therapist. I just don’t happen to need one. I’m quite stable, as you’ve noticed. However strange that may be, and I do understand that it is strange, it is genuine. I don’t need therapy, and _you_ don’t need yet another patient. What you _do_ need is someone to help you through your heat. So- come with me, we’ll go back to my room and I’ll give you a servo or two. Also a spike and/or valve, whatever your preference, and a glossa if you want. Really, you’re welcome to most of me.”

Oh, Rung is sputtering again. Cute.

 

_What._

Caught off guard, Rung leans into the contact, actually taking a couple of steps after Twitch before he stops himself. Twitch is a calm, casual mech, so Rung was expecting a calm acceptance of his refusal. He was not expecting to be fired and then immediately propositioned, again, quite firmly this time.

…is Twitch right?

From what Rung knows, it would seem that he is. He’s almost _alarmingly_ stable, unfazed by a significant and forcibly administered rebuild that included empurata-esque traits. Casual about it, even. Capable of emotional responses to injustice, and without the unhealthy idea that he’s of a low enough rank to be essentially worthless, just… _calm._ Truthfully, yes, Rung is willing to discharge Twitch as his patient, he doesn’t have any significant concerns, and it-it _would_ give him more time for his more critical patients, but-

But that’s not- “I’m- oh, Twitch, I-I really- that’s simply not how this w _orks,_ I can’t- I- ah- oh dear.“

Twitch is still touching him, but moving, placing both servos on his stomach, and Rung’s faceplates flush as he’s reminded of how unusually hot his frame is. This is _incredibly_ unprofessional of him, it’s _shameful,_ he- he shouldn’t even be _considering-_

But he is, he is very much considering, and he is _tempted._ He should stop, he _really_ should, he should leave (never mind that this is his own office) and remove himself from- from the situation, preferably to a cold shower, or to-

 

In that moment, Twitch makes up his mind. Rung isn’t saying “I don’t want to”, he’s saying “my morals and/or code of law say I shouldn’t”. Which, though the law makes sense, isn’t particularly sensible in this case. Not in Twitch’s opinion, at least. Therefore, he’s going to fix the situation. He should probably explain himself while he can still look up at Rung and meet his optics, though.

“Rung, I understand what you’re saying, I do. You have morals. Your morals exist for good reason. This? This is not a good reason. So- here are some facts.

“Fact one, you are in heat, and will continue to be in heat until someone helps you or until you exhaust yourself. Two, the first option is much faster and much more pleasant for you. Three, you cannot treat patients like this, it’s not fair to them and it’s not fair to _you._ From that, we get fact four- you need someone to help you with your heat. Five, I am not your patient, regardless of when that change happened. Six, that is not likely to change again, as I don’t seem to have any need for therapy. Seven, I am _willing._ I do not offer out of obligation, I am not being manipulated. You are in need, and I want to help you. I also genuinely expect to enjoy myself. And, eight- Rung, you are _attractive.”_

Oh, _that_ gets Rung’s attention. Twitch would laugh at the startled expression if it wasn’t so sad. “Yes, you heard me. You are attractive. You are _remarkably_ handsome with your glasses off, cute with them on, plus this-“ he has to stretch to tap the glowing blue window in Rung’s chassis “-is beautiful, and remarkably poetic considering your profession. And I like your voice. Especially when you get flustered. I want to hear what you sound like with my helm between these pretty thighs.”

With that matter-of-fact statement, while Rung is distracted and sputtering, Twitch moves in a bit closer and lifts the psychiatrist off his pedes. He’s shorter than Rung, yes, but weighs almost the same, and he’s built to carry heavy things. His mods didn’t change that. Informing his startled cargo that “this is probably easiest if you sit on my shoulders”, he moves to do so as much as possible, smiling as Rung (though clearly startled) moves with him.

 

Yes, yes, those are all- those are certainly- seven of those are definitely facts, and the eights is subjective, and the conclusions Twitch is drawing are clear, but it all feels too convenient for them to be pointing straight at Twitch-

And then his thought process is cut off by Twitch picking him up. Right. Waste disposal mechs. Strong. Stronger than him. It might have been slightly alarming if it hadn’t meant _warmth_ pressed all along his front and-

And, dear Primus, his codpiece against Twitch’s face. Not by design, it just _happens,_ and Twitch-

Makes absolutely no response to that, just helps him move to sit astride remarkably sturdy shoulders. It probably looks ridiculous, and his pedes aren’t far from the ground, but he doesn’t feel like he’s about to fall off. Nor does Twitch feel unsteady as he starts walking. Intending to- right. To get Rung to his own quarters. So they can interface.

Evidently the decision of where to go is out of his servos now. Or off his pedes, as it were.

 

Rung is light by Cybertronian standards, but fairly heavy for Twitch. Not heavy enough that it causes him any real difficulty walking, though, nor does it prevent him from moving his arms freely enough to catch and hold one of Rung’s servos. “Surprise. I’m stronger than you! It’s useful. I promise not to use it against you, though. You have my word, if you want to stop, all you have to do is say. I’m gonna be specific- you have to actually say, and mean, something to the meaning of ‘I don’t want to interface with you’. Okay, Rung? I’m not gonna make you do this. I think you want to, though. So, what do you like in ber- oh, hello. Reaver, right?”

 

Reaver stops, clearly rather taken aback at encountering a minibot stack in the hallway, and narrows his optics at the cloud of heat-scent. This is probably fine, but… with this sort of thing, best to check. Politely. Rumbling “forgive my suspicion, I don’t know you well”, he crouches in front of Twitch, holding out a servo to stop him, and meets Rung’s optics. “Is he going where you want to be going, to do something you want to do?” 

 

Rung stammers for a moment, caught between his own indecision and his embarrassment at an _actual_ patient, and one who needs some degree of therapy, seeing him like this. It’s- it’s not so much being on Twitch’s shoulders (though that must look odd) as being blatantly in heat and not sure what to do with himself. But-

Yes. Dear Primus, yes, he wants to go somewhere private, and he- he can feel his cheekplates heating at the thought, it must be visible by now- he wants to feel whatever Twitch has planned for him. He certainly doesn’t feel unsafe, he’s not trapped. “I’m- I, ah- yes, thank you, Reaver. I’m- I’m quite all right. Thank you for your concern, but I, ah… oh dear.”

 

“But you’d like me to move,” Reaver finishes, and does so with a small bow and a gesture along the hallway. “My apologies. I thought it prudent to be certain. Carry on.”

 

Not sure how to respond to the bow, Twitch pats the outstretched pointing/gesture servo, deeming that close enough. People tend to find it cute more than anything if he misresponds to something in a polite way.  One benefit of his small size. “Oh, of course! I understand entirely, and I’ve done the same thing myself. I promise I’m not a rapist. You’re handsome and have a nice voice, we should talk later, but I’m a bit busy right now. Do COMM me.”

And he does actually ping the pretty near-stranger his private COMM code as he continues. Reaver, hm? And pretty! And –a quick glance over his shoulder- responding with an expression somewhere between flattery and bemusement at the comment. Cute. Might try propositioning him once Rung is sated.

Speaking of Rung, he looks up as much as he can with someone behind his helm, projects a smile with all the plating not currently being sat upon, and pats one of Rung’s legs. “There we are! That’s something at least close to verbal consent. I’ll take it. You can take it _back_ at any point, I’ll drop you off in the showers or somewhere private, though I _insist_ you at least borrow a good toy. I think I’m a better option here than loneliness, though. I promise to do my best to give you no reasons to leave and many good and pleasurable reasons to stay. And my best is enough to keep a Seeker happy, if that gives you any sort of comparison point. Granted, it takes some gymnastics, I don’t mean a minibot seeker, but it works.”

Oh, cute, Rung looks- well, a lot of things, but sort of impressed. Good! Him satisfying a Seeker is impressive. Twitch winks, cocks his helm in an approximation of a grin, and rotates his hip joint a simply ridiculous degree outward on his next step. “My legs are jointed oddly for various work-related reasons, and I _stretch_ because of one of my mods. I told you about it- the one to collect and edit transfluid nanites? They changed my valve to help with that. Looks like they got the design from porn, supposed to be appealing to potential ‘donors’. Mostly it looks hilarious, ‘cos my spike- well, you’ll see. I like it, though, especially the stretchiness. If you feel _up –_ heh- to spiking me, I promise I can take whatever you’ve got. Unless it’s barbs, I might have to object to barbs, but that’s not really a thing most people have.”

Maybe he can just keep Rung too distracted to overthink things. All he has to do is get Rung into his berth, and then he can be _very_ distracting. For now, he’ll talk. He’s good at that! Going unnoticed for long periods of time is useful, but he ends up having a lot to say.

 “Heh. ’Most people’ says the mech with the formerly-reproductive-system that now edits nanites. Oh- as part of that, my transfluid is full of repair nanites instead of reproductive nanites. Your valve might be a bit tingly after this, but it’s nice, promise, tried it out on myself. They’re blank-code, too, your system’ll take ‘em and use ‘em. My system won’t- I’m are tweaked so my immune system c _an’t_ accept blank-code nanites, otherwise the ones I make would all be my immune system. I gotta make my own a _nd_ everybody else’s. Don’t mind, though. Medics love me. Gets me lots of servojobs, since nanites, an’ since I can usually make the ‘this doesn’t count as an inappropriate relationship because it’s a valid part of the nanite-factory-and-medic working relationship’ argument. And let me tell you- medic servos? Best servojobs. Ever. Soft! And-“

 

“I’m- I’m sorry, but I’m not certain I-I want to be picturing you and- and Ratchet right now, but I find my thoughts going further along that path the more you- I-I don’t object to the rest of this, just- no- no more about medics and interface, please,” Rung manages, trying not to think about the fact that said mental image is almost _unfairly_ attractive. There’s no way Ratchet isn’t experienced as all Pit by this point, especially not with what some of what Rung has heard once Ratchet gets drunk, and that could mean something amazing for any of his partners… and an incredibly awkward next checkup for Rung if he doesn’t head off these thoughts, _now._

Casting around for something else to think about, Rung lands on his immediate situation, which is also a mortifying thought. Mostly because he realizes that he’s been leaning his weight against the back of Twitch’s helm, rocking his hips,  trying to get some kind of stimulation. He’s been holding himself together all day, seeing patients like normal, ignoring everything, but his charge is past the point where it can be ignored. Fortunately for him, Twitch seems… incredibly determined to not ignore him. And, honestly, it feels _good_. Twitch remembers his _name,_ greets him in contexts outside of therapy, doesn’t shy away from interacting with him. Some of that might be his utter nonchalance about his own what-should-be-trauma, most of it is probably his friendly nature, it probably isn’t due to anything Rung has done, but it feels good. Especially in this particularly _physical_ context. Rung is just going to… not think about that.

Or anything else involved in this.

What else is there to think about?

Maybe the fact that this is a maintenance hallway. “Ah… Twitch? The berth rooms are all- _ah-_ “

Right. Speaking to Twitch means Twitch looks up at him, which means helm plating rubbing against his codpiece. Makes it hard to _think._

Twitch shrugs slightly, internally giggling as Rung’s vents _squeak_ in response, and pats his cargo’s thigh. “My berth is a large bucket on the top shelf of a maintenance closet. I’m a trash can, ‘member?”

He waits a moment, just long enough for Rung to look startled, then chuckles and shakes his helm. “No, I’m joking. I _am_ basically a walking medical waste trash can, we both know this, but I’m a person. I wouldn’t put up with that. I have an actual room, I just live down here ‘cos there’s easy access to all the maintenance ducts and air vents. I hear lots of things and I can get places without having to worry about being stepped on. And don’t go on about self-esteem, my self-esteem is fine, thank you. My fuel tank is a container into which medical waste is placed for disposal, that means I’m a trash can. I’m just a very sexy trash can. Especially judging by your vents! Oh, don’t be embarrassed, you’re in heat and your codpiece is rubbing against my helm. I’ll speed up.”

He’s not made for fast, but he can at least jog. Should probably stop semi-accidentally teasing poor Rung. And, ooh- gets those pretty white thighs clamped around his helm for support. Delicious. He can’t resist turning his helm just enough to nuzzle into Rung’s thigh, purring as he speeds up further. So sweet. They’re both going to love what’s coming up.

 

Yes, actually, Twitch’s self-esteem is fine and he will more than stand up for himself and others if needed, that’s well-established, but never mind that. Rung’s attention is diverted as they step through an unmarked door into Twitch’s room, which is- yes, definitely a room and not a closet. A bit small, but reasonable for a minibot. And _this_ gives him something else to think about- people’s berthrooms are always interesting.

Most of the furnishings look either scavenged or put together, but well-made. A stack of crates-turned-cabinets on one wall, a table made of some twisted metal, and a cushy-looking minibot-sized chair that Rung thinks might be the padding of a sparring ring’s walls. The walls have been painted with what look like paint samples, semi-random, multicolored patterns that would probably make Ultra Magnus cringe to see them- if he could even fit through the small door.

On top of the crates is a broken glass cube, probably once an art piece, filled with shards of metal and a touch of energon, a spiraling crystal cluster growing from within. On the floor in one corner is a tiny shelter, and a little floor-cleaning drone whirls in unsteady circles nearby, almost silent except when it beeps in response to their arrival. It looks as patched up as the rest of the room, but seems to be working well. A pet? Some people have taken to keeping nonsapient drones as pets, some even with programming to make them respond to their owner’s arrival and any sort of petting.

Twitch ignores everything, of course, just locks the door and-

And introduces Rung unceremoniously to the berth, dumping him into a heap of softness. He doesn’t get a chance to try and figure it out before Twitch thoroughly distracts him, though.

Specifically, by prying his knees apart, pressing up between his thighs, and-!

 

Twitch leans his helm against the inside of Rung’s knee, retracting the cover over his oral intake, and flicks out a fairly impressive glossa. Long, flexible, almost segmented in appearance, pointed at the tip and nimble enough to curl around his finger. Which doesn’t impede him in the slightest as he speaks, casually, slicking up his fingers. “I don’t have a mouth, not really. I don’t use this to speak, and I don’t have lips, so it’s just considered an oral intake. I have a glossa, though, clearly. You wanna try it? Gonna need a clear response, please, but it can be nonverbal.”

 

_Primus_.

Yes. Fine. He’s in Twitch’s berth, with Twitch up between his thighs. He could stop if he wanted, yes, true, Twitch is sweet and would definitely stop, but he doesn’t want to stop. And he’s gotten this far, he may as well go further- right?

Yes.

Cycling his vents, Rung parts his legs further, nods once, and retracts his panels, offering himself to Twitch. And immediately covers his optics in embarrassment.

He’s _dripping_.

Retracting his panels frees a gush of lubricant and a wave of heady scent, and his spike starts to pressurize immediately. It’s not all that surprising, but it’s _mortifying,_ especially since he can’t help squirming at Twitch’s gaze.

Twitch is eyeing him like he’s a particularly tasty meal. Which, given that long glossa, is probably very true.

Tense in anticipation, Rung braces his heels against the berth, not sure what to expect from Twitch. Twitch is strong, stronger than expected, and has been- not forceful, but not gentle. And Rung honestly can’t tell if he _wants_ gentle at this point. He’s a bit apprehensive about the glimpses of fangs he can see through the half-opened intake covers, but Twitch looks confident enough that he must know what he’s doing here, or at least Rung very much hopes that he-

_Ohh._

Twitch purrs, soft and reassuring, and tucks down to hook Rung’s leg over his shoulder. Winking up at Rung, he licks gently over his partner’s exterior node with the tip of his glossa, testing the waters. The waters are sweet and very turned on, so he purrs and presses a finger gently into the hot, inviting valve.

“Oh- you taste _good,_ Rung. Do you know that? So lovely. Now- what do you want, hmm? Do you want more?” Twitch purrs, reaching up to stroke Rung’s thigh with his free servo, and rubs a bit more firmly at his inner walls when the larger mech bucks into him. “I have you. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you, I just need a moment to let my spike pressurize. For now- legs over my shoulders, come on, good mech. Let me know what you want me to do, if you can manage that, and enjoy.”

With that, he ducks his helm and presses his glossa into Rung’s valve alongside his finger, as deep as he can reach. He’s fully intending to get at least one overload out of Rung before spiking him, less out of necessity and more for fun. Also so he can hopefully get Rung slightly more coherent and ask exactly what he’d like. And what positions, mm. And whether he’d like to use a few toys.

For now, he sticks with his own frame, rubbing gently at Rung’s node with one finger and spreading the lovely valve open as much as possible with his glossa. Rung is tight, but deliciously wet, and his calipers loosen gradually around Twitch’s glossa with no spasms or any signs of discomfort. Not that any sort of frame-reluctance issue is likely during a heat, but best to be sure. Especially with a partner this incoherent.

 

Rung is panting, vents open as wide as they’ll go, hips bucking occasionally as Twitch’s glossa squirms over node clusters or spreads him especially wide. Primus, he’d nearly forgotten how good it feels to have a soft, powerful glossa working him open, and _Twitch-_

Twitch has an _amazing_ glossa for this. Minibot or not, his glossa is long enough to reach some spots that have never been stroked over like this, caressed so _delicately_ at the same time as the rest of his valve is being powerfully spread open. Never mind what a glossa like that is probably supposed to be used for, it is _amazing_ for oral. Nothing Rung can manage on his own compares. Especially not since Twitch is completely coherent and can focus entirely on responding to Rung’s rising charge, drawing it higher and higher with every lick to his valve and rub to his node. It is amazing, but, Primus, he should probably tell Twitch about-

Panting, Rung tries to push himself up onto his elbows, attempting to get Twitch’s attention. It isn’t working, though, Twitch is focused intently on _licking him_ out and is making it very hard to speak clearly enough to break his focus. “Nnh- o-oh dear, Twitch, I- I’m going-“

 

Antennae flickering, heels kicking against his back, optics and biolights starting to flare brighter- Primus, Rung is adorable. And still trying to be polite!  Really, though- has anyone ever buried their glossa in someone’s valve and not been ambivalent or better about having their face overloaded on? He’s all for this. Twitch pats Rung’s thigh and hums reassuringly, then curls his glossa up to press against a particularly sensitive spot he’s found, tweaking Rung’s node in the same instant- and purrs louder as Rung overloads with a sharp cry.

And, oh, _that_ might be what he’d been trying to tell Twitch about. Rung is a _messy_ overloader, and Twitch gives a muffled, mildly surprised noise, optics shutting, as he learns that for himself.

Chuckling quietly, Twitch slurps at Rung’s valve for a nanoklik or two, lapping up the bulk of the lubricant, then sat up and looked down at the panting psychiatrist. Well- as soon as he rubbed the lubricant out of his optics. “Goodness- was _that_ what you wanted to tell me? You are _messy._ Li’l squirter,” he chuckles, patting Rung’s valve, and waves away the stuttering attempt at an apology. “Don’t be silly, that’s a _good_ thing. It’s hot. You taste good. Fine for optics, too, ‘s lubricant. Made to be _not_ an irritant.”

 

Rung takes one look at Twitch with his face covered in lubricants and covers his optics, embarrassed, but can’t avoid the minibot’s field wrapping around him. Strong, purring, friendly, and absolutely genuine. Oh. Twitch _likes_ that.

Of course he does.

Rung peers out from between his fingers, gets another look, and blushes furiously, but doesn’t hide again. Goodness. That is an… interesting sight. Twitch sitting there, chuckling, face drenched in fluids, licking what he can reach of his own faceplates with a glossa that had moments before been buried in Rung’s valve. Makes it very hard to actually speak to Twitch about anything.

“Oh… oh dear. Um. I- goodness. T-thank you, Twitch, goodness, but, ah- I’m- I’m fine now, that’s- that’s quite enough, I’m-“ he squeaks, beginning to make his escape, and is immediately tipped back into the berth. “-um. Oh, my- my apologies, I’ve forgotten myself, do I- what would you like in- in return?”

Twitch probably wants him to return the favor. Entirely reasonable. Might be awkward for Rung, though, his frame is likely to respond more eagerly than he’d like. The overload he’s just experienced has taken the edge off his arousal, but he doesn’t want to stop, not yet. Should probably escape, get to a shower, overload another couple of times, and try to get back to work. Hopefully his frame’s had enough attention to let him-

And now Twitch is sitting on his stomach.

 

Really? They aren’t over the guilt yet? Rung’s normally coherent, withheld field is flaring out, wrapped around them both and thrumming a strange mixture of arousal, satisfaction, and guiltiness. That isn’t okay. At the very least, he needs to get Rung perked up a bit. “Mm, no. Stay here. We’re already interfacing, yes? May as well satisfy you. Or, bare minimum, clean you up. _Drink_ you up, slickvalve, lick you clean, feel you moan, get you all nice. Hm?”

Oh, Rung is blushing again. Cute. Is dirty talk the way to go, then? Might be worth a try. Chuckling softly, Twitch leans back to offer his equipment for inspection, grasping his spike in one servo for a couple of leisurely strokes. “Come on. Both know you want. No shame, Rung. Biological needs, _and_ feels good. Already here, already seen your valve, already tasted you… want more? I do. You?”

Seeing that Rung is definitely watching, Twitch rocks his hips back to properly show himself off, helm cocked in the closest thing to a grin he can manage. “See? Mismatch. Like it, though.”

As he’d mentioned, his valve looks like it might have been transplanted off a porn star. Especially plump lips, glinting silver, with thick blue bio-lights that run past his valve lips and up inside him. Something of a contrast against the rest of his frame, and a massive contrast against his spike. Twitch’s spike is short and thick, as one would expect from a minibot, patterned in toxic green and yellow. Not the most attractive color scheme, especially given that both colors are usually used on biohazard warnings, but the contrast is _hilarious._ In his opinion, at least.

 

Even with Rung’s processor still recovering, it’s blatantly obvious that Twitch is excited. Not only aroused, either. His vocal patterns have changed, and his optic tic has spread to include part of his cheek. Nothing to worry about, Rung has seen this before when Twitch is especially eager for something. He’s clearly holding himself back, though, waiting for Rung to respond. Aside from the self-stimulation. He’s putting on a show, but that’s it. Just toying with his… _interestingly_ colored spike.

Which Rung wants to lick. Not that he _will,_ he’s already taken this more than far enough, he really needed to leave. Except that his valve is still tingling and his frame is _singing_ at the attention from Twitch, and-

Crude terms aside, Twitch seems to care. His field is heavy and hot, just about dripping arousal where it brushes against Rung’s, but there’s an undercurrent of _concern/reassurance/comfort_ wrapped up in it. He isn’t just in this for access to Rung’s valve, he is trying to _help._ At least… it seems like he is.

Rung pushes himself up onto his elbows, looking Twitch in the optics as much as possible, and speaks as clearly as he can. It seems to be working. “Why were- were you in my office earlier? Did you not hear that your appointment had been canceled?”

 

Oh- had it not been clear? Twitch scoops up one of Rung’s servos and nuzzles into it, purring quietly, trying to make his point clear. “Worried. Thought something was wrong. Found something was wrong. Decided to help. Helping. Want to continue helping. Good? Easier on you than waiting. Help people sooner, too. Besides- frame stubborn enough, might not be done ‘till you get help. So- here to help.”

Less than eloquent. Ah well- he has more important things to focus on than coordinating his speech center beyond basic sentences. Like wrapping his glossa around two of Rung’s fingers and sucking as noisily as possible in an attempt to be- well, it can’t be called ‘seductive’ if it’s this crude, could it? What exactly is the crude version of seductive?

 

Rung’s vents stutter, but he doen’t pull his servo away from the… admittedly pleasant sensation. In fact, he manages to catch hold of Twitch’s glossa between two fingers, feeling the powerful appendage flex against his fingertips. “I. Ah. Oh dear- _goodness,_ Twitch. You… you are persistent, aren’t you?”

Despite himself, Rung is smiling as he let go and settles back. That _is_ genuine concern, isn’t it? And Twitch… certainly doesn’t seem inclined to let him go until he’s sated. Nor can Rung escape, come to think of it, Twitch is stronger than him. He doesn’t feel threatened, though. Twitch isn’t hurting him. Is, in fact, trying to help him.

_Is_ helping him. Primus, Twitch is right. Rung has been in heat in the past, of course, but it has always been mild. Enough that a little alone time in the mornings was enough to keep him satisfied all day. This? This is _strong,_ far more than before, and self-stimulation hasn’t helped any. Momentary relief, yes, but always followed by stronger need. Evidently he isn’t going to get much, if any, relief until he has a few overloads with a partner. Just one has helped already- he can actually _think,_ clearly think, at least for the moment. Clearly enough to consider that this situation isn’t going to resolve itself.

Three options. Option one, stop off at the nearest port and try to find a Cybertronian partner who isn’t his patient, isn’t going to be his patient, and isn’t about to hurt him somehow. Probably not the safest idea, and dubiously enjoyable at best.

Option two, go to the medbay, see if any of the medics have “relief of heat cycles” on the list of services they’ll provide. That would be… awkward. As impersonal as possible. Tolerable, but not what his frame wants.

Option three is… this. Let Twitch spike him. Potentially more than once. Get as many overloads as Twitch is willing to give him, which, by the look on the minibot’s- hmm, more frame than face, his face isn’t terribly expressive- is going to be more than one.

Option one is unsafe and might not succeed at finding him a partner. Option two still involves interfacing with a patient, albeit with a legal excuse, and, again, awkward. Option three is… more or less already happening.

To the Pit with him. Twitch has just licked him out and is now sitting on his stomach, self-stimulating and waiting for him to choose. He’s already in this situation, so… it dioes make sense to continue and get himself back into a shape where he can assist people. And it’ll be… quite a lot of fun, won’t it?

Rung reaches up to press gently on Twitch’s chassis, nudging him backwards, and offers him a little smile. “You are persistent and… entirely correct. Thank you for your concern. You’re- you’re quite right, I’d say, I’m not used to heat cycles this _strong_. I’ve seen this happen, though. Frames occasionally object rather strongly to… long-term lack of a physical partner. You must understand, I- I c _annot_ allow this to be made public. I cannot give the impression that I will readily take excuses to interface with patients. But… if you can promise me that you can keep this to yourself…”

He pauses, biting his lip in embarrassment and lowering his antenna, but lifts a servo to stroke Twitch’s flank regardless. “…then I would greatly appreciate the help.”

 

Twitch squirms his glossa loose of Rung’s hold to nuzzle into his servo again, buzz-purring a noise that is half vocalizer and half rattling dentae. Interesting to have one’s fingertips against. “Mm. ‘course. Get settled, mm?”

Engine rumbling a note deep enough to nearly rattle his plating, Twitch scoots back to sit between Rung’s legs again, patting his thighs encouragingly as the lanky mech shifts. He’s eager, incredibly so, but he isn’t going to push. Has to make sure Rung is comfortable, is ready, even if it means wriggling in place to burn off a fraction of his energy and hopefully keep his anticipation from rising too far.

He wants, Primus, Rung is adorable and handsome and smelled _amazing,_ but he is _not_ going to push in the slightest. Has to wait. He’s with a partner who was in heat, while Twitch himself is not, so he’s responsible for both of them until Rung no longer has his frame pushing him to interface.

At least Rung is aware enough to blush and be flustered. People lost in a particularly strong heat cycle don’t blush and act flustered, they do their best to jump the struts of anyone nearby. Rung is not doing that. He’s starting to look like he might want to, but he’s keeping himself contained. It’s impressive.

Once Rung looks comfortable, Twitch nuzzles into his inner thigh once more, then presses up close and meets Rung’s over-bright optics. “Whatever you want. Want to stop, want more, tell me. So good, Rung… control! Impressive. Not needed. Let go, Rung, enjoy. No control needed. Enjoy. Preferably, squeal.”

Oh, more blushing. Primus. Twitch beams, and has to pause for an instant to enjoy the view.

Rung, stretched out on his back, gripping the blankets with both servos for support and watching Twitch with an expression somewhere between anticipation and embarrassment. Optics bright, vents running on high, panting between parted lips, antenna flickering unsteadily against the air. So, so lovely.

Twitch purrs, winked, makes a kiss-noise with his glossa, and lines his spike up with Rung’s valve. Hooking one of Rung’s legs around his own frame, he purrs and thrusts without any further delay, burying his spike fully in Rung’s valve in one easy slide. “-ooh, _slick_. Poor, poor” a quick hip-roll “sweet mech, waiting so long for” another roll, a bit harder, closer to a thrust “someone to give you some _relief._ Don’t worry- relax. Enjoy. Make you feel good. Ready?”

Rung’s legs clamp tighter around his frame, and Twitch takes that for ‘yes, please, ready’.  Usually good to be careful with a smaller partner, or one who might not have taken a spike in quite some time, but, mm, Rung is ready. His valve is slick and pliant around Twitch’s spike, tight but not overly so, and an experimental thrust meets no resistance. Perfect.

 

Rung is not going to squeal. He’s embarrassed himself enough already, he is not going to squeal, he is _not_ going to-

Oh _Primus_. Twitch’s spike is thicker than he’d expected, and the first gentle thrusts rub the tip deliciously over an area of shallow nodes that aren’t usually hit by a partner’s spike. Rung moans despite himself, bucking into the stimulation, and internally corrects his declaration. He is not going to squeal, but he might be making some interesting sounds in the near future.

And then “near future” becomes “now” as Twitch thrusts deeper, putting more of his strength into the motion. Right- Twitch had lifted and carried him with no visible effort. That means core strength. Including _leg_ strength. Rung moans, shudders, and grips the berth tighter, bracing himself to rock against the thrusts. Yes- this is what he needs, what his frame has been craving, but he wants _more_. Harder, faster, _more_. Rung moans again, and Twitch growls in response, grip tightening on Rung’s hips as he thrusts more firmly.

_Responsive_. Ancient coding stirred to life by the heat thrills at having a partner so aware of his needs, and Rung finds himself fully agreeing. The physical sensation is amazing, and so is having someone devote their attention entirely to _him._ Selfish, maybe, but selfish in a way that Twitch seems more than happy to oblige.

That’s what lets Rung finally relax. The sound of Twitch purring down at him, the thoroughly pleased expression on his entire frame, the way he _croons_ in response when Rung rocks against him. Twitch is loving this, Rung _isn’t_ being entirely selfish.

He’s just being… incredibly, incredibly flustered. Twitch is w _atching_ him, optics gleaming, purring absolutely _filthy_ things under his breath. Twitch is vocal under most circumstances, it’s no wonder he’s still talking. And Primus help him, Rung _likes_ it. None of it is degrading, only _lewd,_ telling him how- how wet he is, and how good his calipers feel rippling around Twitch’s spike, and how-

 

“-so good, so sweet, still _taste_ you- want to taste again. Overload in you, fill you up, lick you out again- you’re so wet, you’d be dripping already if I stopped,” Twitch purrs, leaning in closer, and squirms until he has one of his berthmate’s legs over his shoulder. With Rung’s legs wrapped around him, he can’t pull out enough for any particularly long thrusts, but that isn’t what he has in mind. Instead, Twitch rocks his hips in small, steady motions, grinding more than thrusting, focusing on what must be a node cluster judging by the _noises_ Rung is making.

Primus, he’s so sweet. Moaning, arching against Twitch, soft noises of pleasure gradually getting louder and punctuated by gasps and _chirps_. The blue-glowing circle on his chassis brightens until Twitch has to squint to see properly, his legs tighten further, and he bites down on his knuckle in an effort to silence himself. Shy! Twitch isn’t used to shy, most of his past partners have been absolutely shameless, many of them kinky-interface-in-near-public levels of shameless. Rung? Primus save him, Rung is flustered by the sound of his own enthusiastic noises. It really shouldn’t be this sexy, but it _is._

Twitch beams, whispers “so lovely” to Rung, and pulses _arousal/excitement/affection_ as strongly as possible as he keeps talking. “So sweet, so pretty- let me hear you, please, Rung, let me _hear,_ so lovely, love your voice, could listen to you all _night._ Gonna ov‘load, gonn’ fill you up, nice’n full- I got you, Rung, got you.”

Rung is _close,_ squirming again, valve clenching in fluttering motions, but he doesn’t overload. Probably can’t, Twitch realizes- strong heats sometimes _won’t_ let up for anything less than an overflow tank full of transfluid. With that in mind, Twitch lets go of his control almost entirely, thrusting as hard as he can a few times before his charge spills over.

 

That’s about when Rung loses track of things. He’s aware of his own overflow tank opening, aware of Twitch overloading with a spiraling cry and filling his valve with wet, sticky _heat,_ and then overload crashes over him and knocks him into a reboot.

He remembers waking up to Twitch licking at the fluid that’s dripped onto his thighs, remembers Twitch gently coaxing him to roll onto his front, and- Primus. Remembers pushing himself up onto his knees to offer his valve to Twitch. Remembers being past all embarrassment, moaning unashamedly into the berth as Twitch licks gently at his valve… remembers responding, muffled but approving, to Twitch asking “rough okay?” just before spiking him again.

And he remembers Twitch practically mounting him, enthusiastic and not at all bothering to be gentle. Not that Rung has _any_ complaints about being fragged into the berth by someone who continues praising him in an increasingly shaky voice the entire time. It feels _good._ Rung overloads again, loudly, practically screaming into the blankets he’s buried his face in, and takes longer to reboot this time.

He hasn’t overloaded this hard in centuries. Self-stimulation is satisfying enough, but enough of an overload to force a reboot is… impressive.

When his optics refocus, Twitch is holding a… rather garishly colored false spike, one that vibrates audibly when he flicks a switch on the base. He doesn’t even need to ask out loud. Rung isn’t yet exhausted, not quite.

This time, Twitch is gentle again. Rubbing the toy over his valve lips, lingering against his node, pausing to lick the dripping lubricants now and then. When he thrust the toy inside, it was in long, slow, even strokes, relying on the nubbed surface and vibrations for stimulation rather than pure stimulation. That, the gentle rubs to his node, and the sensation of the liquid heat in his overflow tank bring Rung over one last time, a gradually building overload that wrapped around him in a crackling wave.

 

 

When he reboots once more, Rung is on his back, wrapped up in at least one blanket. His inner valve panel is shut, and he doesn’t feel anywhere near as sticky as he probably ought to be right now. He’s thirsty, tired, and lightly sore, but he’s _satisfied,_ and Twitch…

Twitch is cuddling him, tucked up against his chassis and nuzzling into his throat.

He shouldn’t have done this, but, Primus, he feels amazing.

And then Twitch stirs and looks up at him, plating lifting happily, and something zings through Rung’s spark as Twitch purrs. That’s… that’s adorable. Twitch genuinely looks happy to see him awake.

…Primus only knows how a mech who’s just fragged him into the berth is adorable.

 

Twitch beams, conveying the expression with a perk of his shoulder plating and a friendly field-nuzzle, and rolls over for just long enough to grab a cube of energon from nearby. “Here- Ratchet came by and dropped off something you can drink, all the energon I have in here isn’t edible for others. He also told me to, quote, ‘tell him to keep his overworked little aft in here until he’s actually relaxed for once’, so I might do that, if you don’t mind,” he giggles, nuzzling into Rung’s chassis, and gently strokes soft grey sides. “Slag, you’re a cutie, y’know that? Made good noises. Tasted real sweet.”

Oh, he’s blushing again. Twitch purrs and snuggles closer, tucking himself firmly against Rung’s stomach, and leans up to kiss the window in his chassis. “This got real bright. And, what- y’never had someone dirty talk ya?”

 

Rung sputters quietly into the energon cube, midway through gulping down as much as his tank will hold, but doesn’t put it down. “I- well, yes, but- not that _thoroughly!_ You- I-I shouldn’t be surprised, but you have an absolutely _filthy_ mouth. Not, um. Not that I’m, ah. Complaining.”

Twitch starts giggling at the admission, and Rung hides his face behind the cube, embarrassed. He knows it isn’t rational, Primus knows how many patients he’s told not to be ashamed about their desires, but he got worked up so _quickly_. Makes him feel like a newbuild who’s just lost their seals. Heat or not, it’s embarrassing.

And Ratchet… Ratchet may have a point. Rung is flustered, but he could be coherent if he needed to. Not like before. He doesn’t smell so strongly of a heat cycle, either. Smells like interface, though.

 

Twitch giggles for a moment, then clings tighter to Rung, nuzzling into his front. “Gonna keep you. Got all relaxed. You can leave _after_ you fuel, an’ only so’s we can go shower ‘n be clean. Then… obs’vation deck? Ratchet stole y’ schedule. Says ‘ll put ya on official medical leave. Now- ‘m gonn’ sleep. You can either try’n escape but not ‘cos I’m strong, or y’ can stay here an’ enjoy an’ maybe also sleep. Yeah?”

 

…hard to argue with that.

Fine.

Rung sighs, sets the cube aside, and looks down at Twitch in consideration. Resigning himself to his warm, snuggly, affectionate fate, he strokes both servos down Twitch’s back, rubbing gently at tense spots.

Twitch purrs again, softly, and Rung’s spark zings again at the noise.

Primus save him from overly stubborn, sweet, incredibly considerate minibots.

 


End file.
